


Incentive

by SleepsWithCoyotes



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: First Lines Challenge, M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-23
Updated: 2016-09-23
Packaged: 2018-08-16 20:00:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8115568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepsWithCoyotes/pseuds/SleepsWithCoyotes
Summary: If it's possible for this situation to get any more awkward, Bucky would rather not have proof.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Doing a Bucky/Tony "first line" challenge on [tumblr](http://ciceqi.tumblr.com/). Ickaimp asked for: " _Where_ were you hiding that on you? Your jeans are almost painted on! No, wait. Never mind. I don’t want to know."

" _Where_ were you hiding that on you? Your jeans are almost painted on! No, wait. Never mind. I don’t want to know."

Bucky's tempted to answer, but if it's possible for this situation to get any more awkward, he'd rather not have proof. He's also not sure that he wants to point out that Stark clearly hasn't been staring at his _ass_. Really. The back holster is _right there_.

"Just move," he grumbles, not at all long-sufferingly. The things he does for Steve.

"Wait, is this a kidnapping?" Stark asks, narrowing his eyes. He completely ignores the gun, doesn't quite tense up when Bucky grabs him by the arm and starts hauling him towards the far side of the banquet room, heading for the service entrance. Bucky doesn't look completely out of place amidst the post-conference shindig; Steve tossed a suit jacket at him before they split up, and he's not the only long-haired twenty-something in jeans. The gun's another matter. "Because if this is a kidnapping--"

"You're asking _now_?" What the hell are they teaching Starks these days? Not survival skills, obviously. And he's resolutely not going to think about that, how it's maybe genetic, while he's got a job to do.

"I'm just saying, I've already called--"

"It's not a kidnapping," Bucky grinds out through a clenched jaw. "Your little tech powwow is about to become an involuntary think tank, and Steve asked me to get you clear before all hell breaks--"

Three things happen simultaneously. A weird blue light, too like one of Hydra's old energy weapons for Bucky's peace of mind, leaps across a dozen feet of empty space and sends the waiter at the other end into twitching convulsions, a tray of empty champagne glasses clattering to the floor around him. At the head of the room, a sinewy guy in wire-frame spectacles hauls an aging professor type up to the podium and jams something that looks like a staple gun against his head; it makes an awful cracking sound when it punches an implant right through the old guy's skull, the professor dropping like a stone right after.

Somewhere out in the lobby, a crash echoes over the sound of a couple hundred screaming geeks, followed by the stomp of heavy boots.

"Tech powwow," Stark echoes flatly. He sounds kind of insulted.

"Creepy fuckers with really painful mind control thingies," Bucky counters. "Priorities, Stark."

They're not moving. They really should be moving, only Stark's gone and dug in his heels, and while Bucky could get him walking again easily, he doesn't want to _hurt_ the guy.

"Ffft. I told you, I already called the--"

"Suit, yes, great--get in it and get the fuck out of--"

He registers the movement out of the corner of his eye: a burly guy bringing up something in both hands, braced not in a shooter's stance but like he's about to trigger a flamethrower. Instinct takes over, and he sweeps his left arm around Stark, half throwing him to the floor and following him down, bringing his other arm up to fire.

Stark's breath puffs hot against Bucky's neck as it's crushed out of him, his strangled "Oof" all but lost over the bark of the SIG. Blue light burns the air over their heads in a narrow column that sears a meandering line up the far wall. The goon behind the souped-up Taser staggers back, knees crumpling, finger slipping off the trigger as he falls.

"Definitely painted on," Tony says breathlessly, staring up at him. And okay, yeah, maybe he should have been a little more careful about just _how_ he covered Stark, because he's covering a _lot_ of Stark: pressed together from knees to chest, one of his thighs wedged between both of Tony's.

 _It's not my fault_ , he wants to say. _Steve picked the disguises. Do you think I like fighting in these bullshit pants?_

"Suit," Bucky says instead, hauling Stark up and giving him a push to get him moving, both of them keeping their heads ducked low as more eerie blue bolts come hissing after them. "Now."

Only the suit's maybe not the best idea when the bad guys are packing lightning guns, and instead of climbing into it, Tony uses it to run interference, controlling it...hell, Bucky has no idea how he's controlling it. It takes the hits meant for them while Bucky picks off the thugs, trying to avoid panicking civilians and keeping one eye on Stark.

"Steve, where the hell are you?" he yells into the comms, taking his eyes off Stark for _two fucking seconds_ while he uses his left arm to hurl a silver platter across the room like a cheap knockoff of the shield.

Two seconds is all Stark needs to duck around the upturned table Bucky urged him behind, diving for a bolt thrower and skittering away before Bucky can stop him.

" _Right here_ ," Steve replies, charging in through the service entrance Bucky had been making for earlier. Already it feels like a lifetime ago. Wanda's hot on Steve's heels, and Lang must be too, not that Bucky can see him. Wilson's whoop of triumph echoes over the comms loud and clear.

Secret Avengers his goddamn ass. These idiots can't even keep a low profile.

Another level-and-fire maneuver draws his attention, but it's just Stark at the next upturned table over. Pointing his new toy at the wall, Stark sights down the barrel, gives a cursory glance at the controls, and turns in the next breath, lifting the bolt thrower to his shoulder like a rifle.

Bucky lays down covering fire automatically, picking off the few who manage to get their sights on Stark before they're checked by fists or invisible shorties or crackling energy in red or blue. The conference-goers have mostly made a mad dash for the exits by then, which should make his job a bit easier, except that his job is to look after Stark.

Nothing makes that job easier, especially not Stark himself.

"I got him!" Stark yells as he sends his empty suit sprinting after the spectacled fella who's just about managed to slip out unnoticed.

"Stop announcing!" Bucky gripes as Spectacles pulls an actual gun and starts plugging Tony's flimsy banquet table with actual bullets. Bucky lets off a shot that catches Spectacles in the shoulder, sending him reeling back into the balled-up fist of a second Iron Man suit. Between the bullet and the punch, Spectacles is out before he hits the ground.

"Distraction," Tony says smugly.

His eyes drop to Bucky's pants, stretched uncomfortably tight across his thighs by his ready crouch.

Bucky thinks Stark is staring at his thighs, anyway.

This...is not how he figured his next meeting with Stark would go.

When it becomes clear no one else is shooting, Stark stands up, dusts himself off, and gives the bolt thrower a thoughtful look. Instead of dropping it, he tucks it under his arm like a portfolio. He's weirdly calm about it as Steve and the others approach, sticking his hands in his pockets but arching his brows with an attentive smile.

"There a reason you didn't just call, Cap?" Stark asks politely. There's a faint edge in his voice, but hell, if Stark were going to call in reinforcements, he'd have done it already. The suits are proof of that.

Steve surprises Bucky by hunching a shoulder instead of blustering. "There wasn't really time," he admits, which Bucky knows to be true. "By the time we tracked this group to the conference, they were already ready to move in. And, well, you did say you wanted to reconcile."

That's news to Bucky; news to the rest of them too if the startled look Wanda and Lang exchange means anything. Stark doesn't seem appeased.

"So, what...you decided to shift the balance the other way? Give me something to owe?"

"More like give you a bit of incentive," Steve says, all wide eyes and 'aw, shucks' above a smirk that means trouble.

Stark's eyes waver, hold, and then break, darting--to Bucky's pants again?

What the actual fuck?

"Well played," Stark mutters, relaxing at last.

Bucky stares: at Stark, at Steve, at _Wanda_ , without getting a lick of help from any of them. And okay, maybe Stark would ordinarily be just his type--mouthy, ballsy, smart as a whip and cocky as hell--but after, well, _everything_ , he'd have to be crazy to start something in that direction. Or Stark would, only the whole world agrees that Stark is as crazy as they come.

He wants to back off, protest, tell Steve to leave him out of his ridiculous plots, only if he keeps his trap shut for a little while longer, he just might get that chance to apologize he's been whining about.

But if he finds out Steve waited to move in until after Bucky tackled Stark to the floor, he's going to frog punch the asshole right in the arm, see if he doesn't.


End file.
